


11001001 Wrong Number

by Galaxsphere347



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bynars, Gen, Holodecks/Holosuites, Kidnapping, Leah Brahms - Freeform, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxsphere347/pseuds/Galaxsphere347
Summary: You are a lonely crew member on the Enterprise and have a hopeless crush on a certain android officer who is way out of your league. You make a heartfelt request to Lt Reginald Barclay to help you. Despite it going against Starfleet protocol he complies, and your dreams are fulfilled. However following an away team mission to a deserted planet, you are unexpectedly abducted by Data's grotesque evil twin.
Relationships: Lore (Star Trek)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	11001001 Wrong Number

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerephone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerephone/gifts), [strangeworks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeworks/gifts).



> I thought of this story after I created an AU fan art depiction of Lore. I showed how I felt he would really look like after drifting in open space for two years, and then being aboard a Pakled ship, where any repair work done to him would be crude. I also proposed what the effect of encountering certain hostile species might have on him.  
> I do not own any part of ST The Next Generation or have rights to any of the characters therein, so please do not sue me. I am simply telling a story within a canon/non Canon universe and am not seeking any financial gains.

“Hey, excuse me but we ordered two chocolate desserts twenty minutes ago…”

You look at the slightly disgruntled face of the Starfleet officer and his companion, and murmur your apologies.

“So sorry, I will make sure they are with you right away-” You respond with the precise level of empathy and quickly recalibrate the order to rectify the oversight.

Ten Forward is especially busy tonight but you are just not focused on your work. Your head is full of expectation for something you have been awaiting for some time and the excitement and suspense is consuming you.

Eventually your shift ends and you go to sit with Lieutenant Reginald Barclay. You know him quite well as you often talk to him in off duty periods, but strictly as a friend. You share the same shy, awkward personality traits, and as you are drab and mousey in appearance he is comfortable with you.  
You sit down, eyeing Lt Barclay with great expectation. He has done exactly what you desire and created your own personal hologram program, but it comes with complications, and Barclay’s expression echoes this:

“As a civilian crew member you need to be aware that Starfleet protocol doesn’t approve of holograms of high-ranking officers - ”

“Yes I know the risks,” you cut across him confidently. “But I want this so much.”

Barclay has already told you of his escapade a few years ago when he first came aboard the Enterprise. He was reprimanded for using a similar programme to the very one he has made for you now. In his case it was to overcome his awkward, reclusive demeanour and gain confidence in his new role as systems diagnostic engineer. But for you the circumstances are slightly different. You are enamoured with someone who you have never spoken to and who is totally unaware of your existence. 

He is the second in command on the bridge, Lieutenant Commander Data, who also happens to be an android, an artificial lifeform, and void of any discernible feelings or emotions.  
Despite it being against Starfleet rules, you believe your need for the holo image is justified. As an assistant in promoting the Ship’s events programme and waiting on tables in Ten Forward, you have little chance of encountering Mr Data in person. On the rare occasions he comes into the bar when you happen to be on duty, he is always with his fellow senior officers who scare you witless. He even brushed past you on one occasion while you were clearing tables, but never so much as glanced in your direction.

Despite his aloof demeanour, you have heard that he had two short romantic liaisons in the past – once with the late Lt Tasha Yar and later with her colleague Lt Jenna De Sora, both higher ranking than you and both glamorous blondes.

Knowing that nothing short of a miracle is likely to change this situation, a fantasy was the only viable option left.  
That was how you enlisted the help of Lt Barclay and how holoprogram “Real Data 11001001” was born.

**********************  
It turns out that the program Barclay has created is incredibly realistic. It is perfect in fact. Even Barclay himself is impressed by the result of his painstaking endeavour.  
You both go to holodeck 3 and he requests the computer to open the programme.

“What is that strange code 11001001?” You inquire, intrigued.

“It is the 8 digit string used by the Bynars who enhanced the ship’s holodecks a few years ago. They helped to make the program of ‘Minuet’ so realistic to the First Officer.” He explains, sounding slightly edgy at revealing such an intimate fact about his superior to you.

He clarifies that it was before he came to the Enterprise but recently he has been studying the Bynars techniques to try to make the holoprograms as convincing as possible.  
“Well I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be the wrong number,” you add cryptically.

“Nor me,” Barclay adds with an arch smile. “You can keep the programme for two weeks but then I will have to recall and destroy it. I can’t risk being caught out by creating holos of Starfleet Officers again. It's more than my life is worth” 

“Understood,” you reply discreetly.

“Well on that note I will leave you to it Ms Y/N, enjoy!”

As you step into the holodeck, the animated simulacrum of a tall, dark haired, well-groomed male materialises before you both. It is exactly like Mr Data right down to the last photon. Turning its head towards you the figure projects a sign of acknowledgement with cool yellow eyes: “Greetings Y/N,” it deadpans.

“Hello, how are you?” you reply a little nervously, not sure what to say next.

“I am operating within normal parameters.” Came the response in a clipped tone.

You then reach out to touch the image, expecting your hand to pass right through it but it does not. It feels real, solid. Your hand runs down the slim figure from the shoulder to the waist of its uniform tunic, but there is no reaction. You frown, puzzled.

You then emit what you think is a witty remark but there is no reaction whatever.“So, is this what he is actually like?” you muse to yourself, the edge of disappointment in your voice.

Mr Data is more aloof and emotionless than you imagined, but you could not deny that Barclay had captured his personality traits quite faithfully, right down to his blunt tone and lack of verbal contractions. 

Decidedly unimpressed with the basic interaction skills, you decide to explore some of the other features Barclay has installed. Your ‘Data’ can play the violin for you, read poetry or paint, or even engage you in deep and serious conversations about arts, literature and philosophy, which you enjoy. However the program goes into such great depth that it goes over your head somewhat and leaves you feeling more than a little inadequate.

You realise Barclay must have gone to some lengths to build this image, especially as it probably involved accessing the commander’s service records and biography to some extent, but all the same you are left feeling hollow and rather sad. 

“I guess it is true what they say about meeting your idols,” you sigh ruefully to yourself, and end the program.

**************************

A couple of days later you meet Barclay in Ten Forward. “Well Y/N how was it?” He enquires eagerly and is deflated by your response, but you cannot lie.  
“This is way too clinical for my taste. Do you think there is anything you can you do to make him a little more personable?” 

“Well, I did talk with Geordi LaForge a short while back about the programme he created of Professor Leah Brahms when he was seeking a solution to the aceton assimilator problem with the warp engines. He admitted using some artistic licence to suit his preferences and make rapport easier. I can do this if you want?”

“Okay.....” you mumble, rubbing your chin in deep thought.

“What do you have in mind Y/N?”

“Well he’s a bit of a cold fish for my liking. I want him to seem more welcoming and more human...would you be able to make him smile?”

You see Barclay’s expression drop slightly. “Mm-mm that would be difficult, seeing as he doesn’t use expressions in real life. We would have to go entirely with artistic license and imagination.”

“Well then, let’s try.”

Barclay taps some specifications on a PADD, “Computer, add facial expressions - Specifically a response to pleasing comments with a smile?”  
With a bleep from the computer a creepy false grin stretches across the face of the holo-android.

“Ugh no, that’s disgusting!” You shriek, and then both of you collapse in fits of laughter, knowing such a lurid display is so ridiculously out of character for the impassive and dignified second officer.

Recovering from your outburst, you become serious again: “OK. What if we use the facial blueprint of how a Human would smile based on the muscle and bone structure. Can you do this?  
Yeees….” Barclay affirms, and deep in concentration taps away on the PADD, configuring projections of muscle movements onto the blue linear outline of a skull.

“I think I’ve got it...." He feeds the details into the computer and the face suddenly changes, even in expressionless mode looking less detached and cold, more friendly.  
“Hello Data,” You beam expectantly at the image.

“Hello Y/N.” This time he responds with a smile which is warm and genuine and reaches the eyes, you can’t believe how real it is, and quickly remember Barclay’s comments about the Bynars.  
Barclay taps on the PADD once more and to your amazement Data’s speech algorithms are changed, now sounding more inflected and less detached, as though he is completely focused on you.

“Wow, now that IS awesome” You gasp, “Thanks Lt Barclay!” 

Suddenly you feel much happier, and impulsively you grab him in a huge hug, causing him to redden with embarrassment.

“I won’t forget this.” You say to him, but then the joy is tinged with a serious caveat:

“Y/N, try not to overuse it or you will get memory fragmentation. And whatever you do be careful, you don’t want to get caught… “

“I won’t I’ll make sure. Thanks once again.”

And with a mischievous grin you make your way back to your small room with a spring in your step. Barclay meanwhile rubs his forehead in bemusement, unknown to you he is wondering what the consequences might be for creating what amounts to a virtual performing parrot.

Over the next week you enjoy the company of your own ‘Data’ in the holo-suite during your free time. You find it relieves the loneliness and boredom you previously endured and in some odd way actually makes you feel more fulfilled, even happy. The only thing to mar it is the constant sceptre of being found out. What punishment would this mean, for you or more importantly for Barclay? You were not a Starfleet crew member so would it be less lenient or more severe?

You try to push it out of your mind.  
***************************

Not long after you hear some gossip on your shift that the Enterprise is about to investigate a planet which is uninhabited apart from some sort of manufacturing plant for artificial intelligence. This has understandably caused a lot of curiosity with Starfleet. They are certain something significant has been happening there, so want to take a look.

You have little first-hand experience of such things but Barclay has told you he will be co-ordinating an away team on the planet’s surface from the ship. Apparently the team will be led by Lt Commander Data and some of the science department. For a fleeting moment you wish you could join them.

When the away team returns with their findings Lt Barclay meets you in Ten Forward and brings you up to speed. 

“Well did they find anything interesting?” You enquire casually.

“Er…not exactly. The complex in question is very much how you would expect a laboratory to be. Full of clutter and instruments, all of which seemed to have been abandoned in great haste.”

“Such as?”

“Metal components, servos, cables, transistors and chips, but no sign of anything that resembled humanoid parts, which would be essential when constructing sentient androids if indeed that was what they were doing down there.” You sense unease in Barclay’s voice. Perhaps he should not be telling you anything about this.

There was several beats of silence, then Barclay continued: “Some of the team said it felt very queer in there, as though they were being watched. One of the science guys said they heard some sounds, as if someone was hiding out in the buildings but they detected no life forms”

“Interesting,” You observe, concluding that the venture was much less exciting than you had anticipated and realising you are hungry you order a hot chocolate along with a simple snack.  
”Well if it was something important we will know soon enough.” 

************************

That night you wake suddenly to a sound in the darkness of your room. You are definitely not imagining it and you look and listen for clues, fear rising in your chest. There is another sound, this time of movement followed by a low mocking snicker. Your heart pounds and your breath catches in absolute terror. You scramble in the pitch dark for your padd to alert security without success. Unfortunately as a service worker you have no weapon.

“Who’s there? Who are you?!” You demand, desperately trying to mask the wobble if fear in your voice and remain assertive.

“Computer raise lighting to 40 lux.”

Your sharp intake of breath rises to 11 then stalls in horror as you focus on the apparition before you. A disembodied nightmare, which on first glance could be a crude, deviant cartoon of Data, but there the resemblance ends. Hollow darkened eye sockets surround two burning yellow orbs of fire, filled with malevolence. In a mouth drawn back into a sneer jagged duranium teeth gleam menacingly. Under the soft light of the room, a pale gold bald head, etched with the patchwork of bioplast scars glows almost luminescent.

“Who are you?!” You hiss your inquiry again, now visibly shaking at the macabre sight before you. The grotesque face leers at you in a perfect maleficent glare.

“You may call me Lore.”

*************************

“What do you want?” It was the only thing you could ask given the circumstances.

“I want you to help me,” the disembodied mess called Lore replies in a melifluous tone.

“How?”

“Well... let’s say I feel that a change of image is well overdue,” he responds sneeringly, with a grandiose gesture of a gloved hand, for as hard to believe though it might be it IS a he.

“As a fugitive I need to keep ahead of the game to avoid getting caught by the pesky Starfleet shills. I need to remain incognito, in order to roam the Galaxy in my quest to subjugate all organic life. So…I thought you, as a pathetic little crumb of Humanity might assist me in carrying out this irksome task. I’m sure it will be FUN.” Lore’s mouth bends into an unnatural rictus on these last words and you wince as you feel his hot metallic breath fan over you.

Yet despite your revulsion you fleetingly see his depraved appearance as more pitiful than scary, but your better instinct tells you this is just a cunning ploy and your heart begins to drum frantically as you reappraise the true brevity of Lore's request. As if able to sense your disquiet he addresses your concerns with a touch of annoyance: “Don’t worry, we won’t be seen or heard, I have a transporting device.”

“Why me?” You ask justifiably. I am not in Starfleet and I am only a service worker. can’t you do it yourself, these repairs?”

The creature turns on you with a calculating stare and a hard expression, “Let’s just say you are how can I put it – disposable? If anything happens you won’t be missed. As it is my head that requires attention and I can’t see what I am doing I want an assistant. I also need to work quickly - surely that’s obvious, or are you stupider than I thought?”

“Yes but why did you choose ME?” You persist.

“I didn’t. I just did a lucky dip on lower decks and took what came up. Eeny, meany, miny mo…and it was you.”

“Ah, congratulations. You got the booby prize.”

Lore snorts, “Never mind the silly wisecracks, just get some clothes on woman and let’s get to it.” His tone remains rude and abrupt.

You reach for your pants, tunic, boots and a protective jacket and pull them on hastily.

When you are done Lore gestures you to stand next to him. “Stay still” he orders, and flips open his thumbnail initiating a transporter beam. You briefly muse at the irony of getting the opportunity of visiting a new world but not quite in the way you expected.

You both materialise in the cold stark surroundings of the main lab on the planet’s surface. Lore knows exactly what he is looking for and you follow him to a heavy door in one corner which he opens with another gadget.

The sight within makes you gasp in both awe and horror. It is filled with human like body parts, artificial eyeballs, mechanical hands and feet, sheets of some skin like material and a swathe of something resembling human hair, in a variety of shades. It is like some bizarre cybernetic beauty parlour.

“Right, this is what I need.” Lore grabs a piece of the skin substance in a ghostly white gold hue, but bypasses the artificial hair, “Don’t need that…” and some fine ground quadratanium, duranium and porcelain compound. He also takes a few tools which resemble those used by a jeweller. Lore puts them on a tray and hands them to you.

He then takes a tub of some waxy substance, evidently a type of bonding material. “That’s it, I can replicate my missing ear once we have finished this and I am able to recall the co-ordinates. Come.” he orders, walking into a small white room at the end of the lab. You follow unquestioning.

You can feel your fear surging inside like a sickly tidal wave about to crash. The room has a white medical table and a reclining bio bed just like in sickbay on the Enterprise, plus arc lamps, basins and mirrors. Lore sits back and asks you to lay the delicate instruments and the few materials on the table. 

He picks up a magnifying mirror nearby and gruffly instructs you which of the tools to hand to him as he carefully cuts the material to size and then using a tiny laser, removes the damaged areas from his face with equal precision.

“Can I ask you something?” you venture trepidly.

“What?” He snaps. 

“Please do not think I am being intrusive, but you remind me of the second officer on the ship – “

“Commander Data you mean?” He responds with a derisive drawl.

“Y-yes,” You can barely get the words out, Lore’s stare cuts into you like a jagged saw. “Are you…related?”

“We are brothers, of a kind.” He replies, brusquely, his yellow eyes seem to blaze in fury. “If you must know, we were created by the same person, and we looked identical for a short while. However it seems my meddling brother and the rest of his simple minded Starfleet puppets had the novel idea of reactivating me a few years ago. Then when they decided I was too superior for them darling Data had me beamed me off the transporter pad of the Enterprise into open space. Where I remained for 2 years.”

“Is that why you are so badly damaged?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just …curious that’s all.”

“Well put it this way, I don’t think it did my circuitry nor my aesthetics much good.” He growls, obviously reluctant to extrapolate, but complying nonetheless, as he guided a small infra-red beam over his darkened eye sockets, making them clear instantly. 

“I was finally pulled aboard a Pakled trading ship. They are a dull race and didn’t have a clue how to fix me so I had to scrounge parts during our stops at trading posts and patch up however I could.  
"I had lost one of my ears and my hair, which must have dissolved during a plasma burst or something, I couldn’t replace those but I survived. Since then of course I have had my fair share of brawls. Nausicaans…Ferengi, the odd Klingon, but I always win, no weak little organic can match my strength. That’s how I got the rest of my scars,” he sneers with pride.

Lore then starts to work on a tattoo-like mark on his forehead, which reminds you of an ancient Terran symbol of fascism, the Swastika. He erases it successfully and applies the waxy balm, then a patch of synthetic skin, setting it with a heat gun.

“What was that? Did you lead some kind of sect?” you venture with hesitation, fearing it might be the wrong question to ask.

A beat passes then Lore responds, “No, I was in a bar and happened to stumble across a band of synthetic life forms, obviously not as advanced as me but I sensed a feeling of brethren to them. They were primarily built for combat. Their so called leader bestowed the mark on me after I tentatively agreed to join them as co-command but again even they felt the need to defer to organics, in this case the Dominion. So I declined…”

As if on cue, Lore seems to notice the intrusion on his affairs and turns on you viciously: “Why are you prying into my life and asking me all this, you miserable little slut? You don’t know a damned thing about cybernetics or power or control. You are just an insignificant little lacky and not even a pretty one at that.” He snorts derisively, “Just let’s get on with the task in hand and stop prattling.”

With that you suddenly become angry and find in you the courage to answer back “I refuse to be spoken to in such a way,” You retort. “Either you be civil or I stop assisting in prettying you up now, just because I don’t meet your exacting standards for a girlfriend…”

Lore throws his head back and lets out a hard cackling laugh, his mouth twisted in an ugly sneer. “Girlfriend? Ha!!” he smarms viciously once his laughter dies away. He snatches your chin in his gloved hand, holding it tight, perhaps too tightly, drawing your face to his and letting those toxic yellow eyes burn into you like a phaser set to kill.

“Listen to me, I am not interested in any woman, man or child nor in fact ANY organic lifeform. And especially that pointless emotion you call love. I desire only power and control. I am making repairs to look more fearsome not more attractive. That way I can be sure I avoid compassion, or heaven forbid PITY for my ravaged appearance.  
“I have no need for fripperies, that’s why I don’t miss my hair. I can regrow it (ha, another one of my creator’s pointless foibles) but I have aborted that function. It has no purpose and gets in the way. Also the less I look like my brown-nosing brother Data the better.…”

His words carry a thick layer of mockery and are laced with bitterness. “Let me tell you. Unlike my perfect little brother, I am NOT anatomically correct nor fully functional. I never was. My wonderful creator Dr Soong had intended to encumber me with such useless appendages, along with a nonsense sexuality subroutine and some creativity goobledegook to my programming, once he was satisfied I was working properly and was a good little boy. Thankfully I malfunctioned and was dismantled before that happened. I don’t miss it and don’t need it. Now either you shut up and help me or I might de-activate you…” 

Lore waves a laser scalpel in front of your face with a menacing smirk, those yellow eyes remaining cold and detached. You wonder if you will get out of this alive.

You continue to hand him the delicate instruments as he works on the facial reparation. It is nearly finished. “Now this is where I require your help,” Lore intrudes on your rumination that the likely outcome of this will be your demise, and indicates his bare, ruined scalp. “You need to cut the scarred area gently and then lift it, think you capable of doing that?"

Resignedly, you take the tools and try not to let your hands shake. You manage to keep steady, and lift the loose synthetic skin gingerly. It comes away like a cap, and you are startled to see grey metal and an array of lights blinking beneath. “Holy – “

“Shut up!” Lore spits, “Never mind gawping like it’s a bloody freak show, just put the damaged bits there –“ (he points at a tray nearby) You obey.

“Now take this piece of good skin and lay it over the patch. You comply, feeling somewhat queasy at the appearance and feel of the stuff. 

“Good, now use this to suture the joins. Just press the top gently to activate it.”

You take the tiny screwdriver like tool and aim it at the seams, a tiny beam emits and closes the joins without leaving any visible mark at all.  
This action is repeated several times, until the scalp is smooth with no evidence of scarring.

Lore stands up from the bio bed, moves over to a large replicator and punches in a long line of co-ordinates from a small padd he has taken from inside his jacket. A copy of his missing right ear magically appears, which he scrutinises harshly before affixing it to the side of his skull, “Perfect.” He grunts.

Lore then picks up the mirror and examines the work, his fingers running over where the blemishes used to be. His face is now cleared of the dark circles under his eyes, the burns, scars and tattoos. Apart from the absence of hair, he now ironically resembles Data even more. Thankfully he seems pleased, and gives a thin smirk of approval.

You then remember he has some more compounds, possibly for repairing his teeth, but he places these in the metal box he took earlier and slams it shut, ”I can finish this later on my ship.” He says crisply, with a tone of finality. 

Time is running out for you, but you have no weapon and no means of communication or transport. It is unlikely anyone knows you are gone from the ship. Lore knows this too. You sink into despair. You know he has no further requirement for you and the best you can hope is that he leaves you tied up somewhere.

You watch in silence while he prepares to leave and his smug demeanour reminds you of a sadistic hungry beast. He finds you expendable and he is a neuter, void of sexual urges so even if you were attractive it would make no difference. He is nothing but a cold killing machine, and you are his prey. 

You feel a tear spring up in one eye and think of the harmless hologram of his gentle emotionless brother you preoccupy yourself with. It all seems so futile and childish now. He leaves the room and disappears down a flight of stairs. Is he looking for something to bind you with? That at least looks hopeful.

Then inexplicably, a miracle happens, you see a shape sparkle just outside the room, a transporter beam! 

As it materialises, you can see Starfleet uniforms, a small security party, led by…Lt Commander Data! You can hardly believe your eyes or contain your relief, but everyone especially the commander, is aware how dangerous Lore can be, and phasers are poised ready to fire.

“Quick Miss!” Data hisses and before Lore has raced up the steps (his superhuman hearing would have detected the activity) you take your chance. In what seems like two bounds you dash out of the room and across to the waiting rescue party, just as Lore’s bald head appears round the corner of the nearby stairwell, deadly weapon in hand.

“Five to beam up.”

As Lore aims to fire, your group safely disperses and you are on the transporter pad of the Enterprise. You are so overwhelmed you collapse. Data and the security party leave but Lt Barclay is there to support you. He presses his commbadge “Barclay to Sick Bay- “

“I’m not injured,” You protest, but you are in shock, and in need of a sedative after your ordeal. You will also have to provide your account of what happened to a senior officer and are pinning hope on….

“Data – “ you look around and see that he has already gone, probably back to the bridge to more urgent duties than fussing over the welfare of some service operative. You are disappointed, but then look at Barclay and sigh with a resigned grin.

“The team went down again as they got a hunch that something else was going on and they wanted to check it out. Data suspected Lore…” Barclay says with an arch expression. “It was a million to one chance really.”

“Yeah well, It looks like I will still be giving my incident report to some anonymous mid decks security officer, not Commander Data. Not that it would make any difference…” You know that as you are not Starfleet you can expect little else.

As Barclay guides you to sick bay, in a low voice you make a confession: “You know, I reckon we can wipe that holodeck programme now. I think I have had enough of yellow-eyed androids to last me a lifetime.”

Barclay drops you off at the sick bay entrance then briskly walks down to holodeck 3 and with relief in his voice orders: “Computer, delete programme Real Data 11001001”

*********************************


End file.
